


The Curse of Moonlace

by Above20Below



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence - The Battle of the Labyrinth, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Pining, Recovery, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Depression, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Odyssey References, What-If, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Above20Below/pseuds/Above20Below
Summary: Men can only discover the island of Ogygia once, and when they leave, they are to never return. This was to be her fate until the end of days. That is, of course, until a man of extraordinary birth quite literally fell out of the sky and into her life — and her heart. [Perlypso. Percy stays on Ogygia].
Relationships: Calypso & Percy Jackson, Calypso/Percy Jackson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. There is a fair isle

**UNDER** the unblemished night sky that shines down beauty from the heavens above to the island forever condemned to be both everywhere and nowhere, a garden of luminescent moonlace twinkles and casts a silver glow upon the open land. Freshwater waves gently lap at the pristine white beaches that surround the entirety of the island; water that is never too cold and never too hot, a perfect balance that feels unnatural. On one side of the island lay a grove of magnificent and ancient cedar trees that seem to be older than the island itself, with the middle of the island inhabited by four glorious fountains, satyrs adorning each one as water pours out of their reed pipes endlessly, as if forever playing music lost to the ears of any who could be listening.

Luscious swaths of green grass bound across the small hills that blend into rocky outcrops from which the mouths of caves form, wherein objects such as a loom, harp, and easel are present and look outwards towards the immaculate landscape of the island. From the mouths of the caves on the ground level form footpaths worn down from millennia of use. They form sweeping meanders to the wonderful fountains and the ancient grove, but the widest and most worn path is that from the western shoreline to the glowing moonlace gardens.

In the gardens sits a woman, spade in hand, tending to the expanse of flowers in front of her, growing it slowly by the night. She is both plain and exquisite at the same time, with dark almond eyes and hair of caramel beset upon her timeless face. A flowing white chiton rests upon her body, and she glimmers in the beauty of her flowers.

Here sits Calypso, upon her island of paradise and her prison. A blessing and a curse, for a fate that could have been so much worse. Here, she finds her happiness in the little things from which she can forget about the life she has lived, the life she is currently living, and the life that she forever will live. Long has she put to rest the notion of counting her days from within this prison, as the millennia muddle together on the island where time acts strangely.

No sooner does Calypso finish placing the moonlace seedlings does a floating watering pot come to rest next to her. From this point she takes to watering and caring for every one of her needy moonlace plants. The water pours over her hand, as she lets it splash out and spray around the soil of each flower as it absorbs the nectar of nature. As she runs out of water, she simply twirls behind her to where a new pot of water hovers in the air, waiting to be plucked by her graceful hands, leaving the empty watering pot on the footpath she walks along. Here the empty watering pot is taken away by an invisible force, drifting off to the fountains in the middle of the island to be refilled for the next pirouette of a transfer. The process is elegant, like a spontaneous dance that imbues grace and grandeur.

Finished with her dance, she wanders along the familiar footpath towards the western beachfront where the sky is darker than the eastern, lays upon a blanket that was not there before and gazes out at her freshwater ocean and the twinkling stars above. There she will rest for an hour at most before retiring for the night. For this is the realization of Calypso's punishment, the culmination of her toils for the day. Here she is the most content, the most happy, and the most free – here on this late night after all her hard work of the day is done, where she can sit and stretch without a care in the world as her day is complete. She languidly sips her last glass of wine, that exists even with no vineyards present in Ogygia, and consumes a date or three, taking pleasure in the sweet, sticky taste.

This is where she takes solace in the punishment the gods have bestowed upon her, for she is free of any extenuating fate and almost completely secluded from the gods that condemned her to isolation. And she is happy, somehow, in this lonely world that the Fates decreed would be her prison, with her curse to bear seeing hero after hero wash ashore only for her to fall in love with them and see them leave; she is happy nonetheless, at least in this present moment. For night will end and day will rise, and the process will repeat again. While she may decide to work on her loom and weave a new blanket or another white chiton, it will always result in her sitting upon this western beach, feeling truly free and accepting of the curse she endures.

However, is this the degree of happiness that Calypso has resigned herself to after having fallen so low with Odysseus, as she finally felt the reality of the curse she forever suffered and the eternal punishment that was given to her? Perhaps Calypso will never truly not be lonely, but she can, however, be happy.

After all, one must imagine Sisyphus happy.

**/ / /**

A soft breeze rustled against the white curtains that covered the cold rock window of Calypso's bedroom, as the morning sunlight slowly crept in. Beautiful crystals that adorned the walls and climbed up to coat the ceilings glowed elegantly as the twilight refracted off of them; the white silk curtain captured the fleeting color of dawn as it transformed into a tapestry consisting of the rich and vibrant colors of bronze, yellow, and red.

Here, Calypso's invisible companions began to wake and hustle about. Silently, they took to their tasks to prepare their master for the morning. The kitchen began to spur with life as the oak logs that sat in the fireplace suddenly had flames dancing atop them and the sound of crackling wood began to fill the kitchen, and fresh meat was also laid out in case Calypso wished to prepare her dinner herself. Wall sconces that lined the passageways, hidden from the natural sunlight, slowly began to glow orange as a path was made down towards the bedroom. A freshly washed, neatly folded white chiton floated silently down the hallway, appearing orange in the torchlight. The servant brought it to rest quietly on to the table which held a stack of blank papyrus scrolls waiting to be covered in inked words that would form fantastical stories or beautiful drawings of the world she could no longer visit.

A small silver tray slowly floated into Calypso's room and sat to rest on the wooden nightstand, carrying a loaf of fresh, warm bread and a silver chalice of water. The white silk curtains were slowly drawn to bring in the fresh morning sunlight to the room and to mark the start of a new day. With the curtains drawn, the light was fully free to reflect and refract against all the different crystals that lined the cave walls and ceilings and created a kaleidoscope of colors. The white cotton blanket of Calypso's bed appeared as a myriad of colors, illuminating the woman's slowly waking body.

Stretching away the morning fatigue, she yawned and moved a few stray strands of hair out of her face before reaching for the chalice of water.

"Thank you," she muttered, mainly to herself.

Long has she moved away the thoughts that these servants could actually aid in the isolation. She had tried for a few years, perhaps a decade or two, to communicate with the invisible servants after Hera took pity on her. While it was clear that they had some form of self-awareness, it seemed to only appear whenever something was done that displeased Calypso.

_Her watering pot had just run out of water._

_"_ _Shame, I had thought I could get a few more plants out of you."_

_Turning around to go back to the fountains, Calypso bumped into another watering pot, spilling its contents over the ground._

_"_ _What the_ – _Gods, where did this come from?"_

_A peacock feather slowly fell from the sky in front of Calypso's face. With shaking hands, she plucked it out of the sky. "Hera?"_

_Another watering pot appeared at the gates of her garden, floating in the air while slightly bobbing up and down, as if there was someone walking with it. Calypso looked down in her hands at the peacock feather._

_"_ _Oh my gods_ _– Lady Hera, my thanks upon you." Calypso turned to acknowledge whoever was carrying the watering pot, "And my thanks upon you, whoever you are."_

_Calypso thought the silence was merely out of courtesy._

Placing down the chalice on the silver tray, Calypso shed the blanket off of herself completely before slowly climbing out of her bed, feet coming to rest on a soft and luscious sheepskin carpet that protected her feet from the cold and hard rock floor of the cave. She grasped her chiton and dressed herself, taking pleasure in the feeling of fresh cotton against her fair skin. Grabbing a golden colored belt, she moved back towards her nightstand and ripped at the still warm loaf of bread, taking a few pieces and eating them while she fastened her belt around her waist. She slipped on her sandals and walked out of her bedroom to begin her day.

She smiled as she saw fresh meat laid out on the kitchen countertops, she had been wanting to prepare a meal herself for the past few days. While the urge to prepare a meal was indeed present and upfront, the desire to garden this early in the morning was greater. If worse came to worst, her servants would never let her skip a meal – Calypso had learned that after she had fallen into a depression and attempted to toss any prepared food away.

_A silver tray smashed against the side of the cave wall, as dates were being thrown into the fireplace. Calypso picked up the perfectly cooked steak and threw it with as much force as she could muster out of the window._

_"_ _I do not wish to eat! Stop giving me food!"_

_Another silver tray simply started floating towards her, once again bearing fresh dates and a hot steak._

_It never made it to the table._

She walked towards the water pot, one that was always kept full and fresh and clean, refilled her chalice, and grabbed a bottle of wine before she began to head towards her garden.

The birds that decided to call Ogygia their home flocked to Calypso as she left her cave home. A beautiful white dove chirped happily as she saw her friend, and Calypso extended her hand happily for the dove to come rest on.

"Hello, my pretty, how are you?" She greeted, as she continued walking with the bird in her hand, while a parrot flew to rest on her shoulder. "Oh, hello to you too!"

The walk to her garden was enjoyable with the somewhat one-sided conversations between Calypso and her avian friends.

**/ / /**

Calypso was tending to her daylight garden, a field of violets, hyacinths, and more, when she first felt something amiss. A slight rumble was felt through the earth, halting her progress of the new home for the daffodil in her hand.

"Well, that is new," she mused out loud.

She paused all work for a few seconds, before humming to herself and completing the daffodil's new home. Reaching for her watering pot, she welcomed the daffodil to the family, and blessed it with some water (atop an actual blessing of growth).

 _Perhaps_ , Calypso thought, _I should take that as a sign to move on to the next project_. Setting down her watering pot and spade, she dusted off her knees as well as removing any specks of dirt that landed on her chiton and turned to head back to her cave.

The watering pot and spade slowly lifted off the ground and followed her exit, while a parakeet flew down to greet her. The animals were much more jovial today, and it pleased Calypso. She rather enjoyed when her friends visited her as frequently as they currently were.

Reaching the cave entrance, her parakeet friend followed her while Calypso conversed with him as she entered her so-called "gazing room". Facing west, this room had perhaps the best of views from any location on Ogygia. The room was located at the highest part of her cave system and opened elegantly from the base of the cave to its roof, granting a sheltered birds eye view of western Ogygia. A tall and towering poplar grew to the midpoint of the cave's opening, where a few birds made their nests knowing Calypso came here often. The parakeet flew over to an available branch near the loom and chirped, as if to beckon Calypso closer.

 _"_ _Come closer. I will not attack, my dear." Calypso purred, as she leaned against her loom, "The view here most likely rivals those from the Blest, if I may be so bold. I wish but to simply show you one of the most pleasant views on all of Ogygia, Odysseus."_

 _"_ _I must warn you, Calypso," Odysseus began, "that my wife awaits me in Ithaca."_

_Calypso huffed, "Can a lady not offer a pleasantry in your trying time? Come, I can even sing for you."_

_And so Odysseus relented, and moved towards Calypso while they gazed out at the setting sun. Calypso's singing filled the silent air, as she worked her magic on her guest._

Calypso traipsed towards the loom, grabbing a chalice of water from the air, and sipped from it. She sat in front of the loom and gazed out the window, setting the chalice down before noticing that a silver tray had also been brought in with the chalice, an apple resting atop it. Plucking it with her hand, she inspected it before humming and taking a bite out the juiciest looking section.

Thoughts of weaving left far behind her, Calypso was content to grant herself a short respite from her chores while she sat and enjoyed her snack. She sang to herself while tapping against the surface of the loom, the unfinished tapestry bouncing beneath her fingertips. At this point in time, Calypso was content. The parakeet from before was conversing with other birds that were nested in the poplar, and she could only imagine what they were talking about.

Time passed by Calypso – her moments when she would feel happy or sing always seeming out of time – before she once again felt the same rumble through the earth. Her song stopped, and she noticed that the birds had ceased all communication as well. In fact, Ogygia itself was oddly quiet. The island was completely silent, which it had never been before. The quietest she had ever known it to be was after Odysseus left, when her cries of rage and sadness caused her creatures to keep a wide berth around her for the ensuing months.

She stood up slowly, and a chill went through her. This was unnatural and abnormal; thoughts that she did something to offend the gods filled her head. Had Athena come for revenge after all these centuries? She peered out of the cave, attempting to see if anything had changed outside. An audible gasp betrayed Calypso. Something was falling from the sky, a trail of thick smoke in its wake.

 _Meteors do not fall on Ogygia_ , thought Calypso.

She steeled herself, before turning around and running out of her cave to head towards the falling object. She heard whistling as she finally exited her abode. Turning quickly to start down the path that led towards the western beach, she heard the whistling grow in intensity rapidly. Calypso could only watch as the falling object made an impact, the deafening whistle replaced by a loud explosion, as a geyser erupted in the far distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go. I’ve never written fanfiction before (or written any form of fiction before – I’m an essay and research paper writer by heart) and Calypso and Ogygia was always supremely intriguing to me as a place that held a lot of untapped potential. I am hoping through this fic to explore Calypso as a character a lot more thoroughly and intensely. I am terribly sorry if you do not like Perlypso as a ship, but I feel that the pairing is the best way for me to explore Calypso as a character. However, if I feel as I am writing this that what I have written really does not support the two as a romantic ship, I may very well change it. Who knows? I am a sucker for angst.


	2. The wine-dark sea

**WITHIN** the first few moments after impact was made, it was if Pontus himself had awoken and decided to reclaim Ogygia for the sea. Towering waves surrounded the island, as the wine-dark sea unleashed Hades on her isle. Calypso was glad she was not yet to the shoreline and instead a minute or two away, as the sea surrounding her slowly, much to her horror, reclaimed the shoreline. Reaching out, she hurriedly tried to calm the waters, but it proved to be futile. In fact if possible, her attempt at intervention had exacerbated the issue tenfold. 

Multiple waves quickly began crashing into one another to form even larger ones, the larger ones following suit and colliding with others to become taller than she. Calypso feared for her life, for perhaps the gods had found her existence no longer worth the entertainment they received upon her curse activating.

_Is this how I fade? The heavens collapsing as the sea reclaims my home? For my curse to end by my own death and to be forgotten?_

Pontus raised his arms, and the wine-dark sea listened as a monstrous wave began to build. Calypso could almost envision the wave wrapping around the island completely, raising to the titanic height that the immortals wore during the Titanomachy, before drowning her isle whole. Instead, the towering wave began speeding towards Ogygia with an alarming power, beset with foaming tendrils, reaching outwards like the hands of desperate and hungry beggars. The gigantic wave drove itself against the shoreline of Ogygia behind Calypso, near one of the cliff faces. Ogygia shook with the force of the wave, sending tremors through the ground. Birds cried out in the distance as their homes were violated by the once calm sea. 

Calypso turned hastily in worry as the island was slowly drowned. Another, even larger wave was present above the already cacophonous sea, a high point so far above the jagged waves. The rate at which it grew made Calypso far too aware of its current pace, with just how little time she had before her apparent reckoning. Suddenly, another explosion went off behind Calypso, in the direction she was originally running to. She jerked her head to look back, and with it turned her body around to run back to western Ogygia. Another geyser was present in the sky, spewing forth a great amount of water continuously, as if the sea was signalling a waypoint for Calypso telling her where to go.

She saw no reason to not listen.

Resuming her charge, Calypso reached out to the sea to gain an idea of whatever the sea was feeling. Immediately after doing so, the sea suddenly began to exhibit a new emotion: anguish and sorrow. She felt the currents in the water surrounding the ocean rushing towards the location of impact, carrying with them hundreds of pithos’ worth of water. As the currents raged, it felt as though it brought with it all the anger the surface had. Calypso could feel the surface calm, quickly, and before Calypso knew it, the water was silent to her, bar for the currents raging underneath. It felt to Calypso as if the sea was mourning for something deep beneath its waves — or perhaps it was mourning for someone.

Almost two minutes had passed before Calypso was finally able to reach the shoreline from her cave, and in that time the water had completely calmed down. However, where before the sea that surrounded her fair isle was calm with tiny rolling waves lapping gently at the shore, now that same very sea was placid. Surrounding Ogygia was no longer that comforting sea but a mirror stretching to the horizon, the sky reflecting without any imperfection as the sea turned dead still.

Tentatively placing a step onto the white sand beach, Calypso began to head to the water to try and locate the submerged object. However, the mirror gave nothing away. It held no imperfection in the silver beneath it, betraying not even the sand beneath its still surface. A minute passed, and a small collection of bubbles rose to the surface, popping quietly. The quietness that ran through Ogygia amplified the popping by an extreme amount. The currents that were rushing around the island were suddenly filled with hundreds of thousands of pockets of air in them, all heading in the same direction: west.

Calypso’s head jerked towards the area in which the bubbles arose, locating it immediately. It was a singular location, maybe a minutes swim away. Bubbles suddenly started to rush to the surface of the water, a constant stream, releasing from within steam whenever one would breach the surface. Slowly, an oblong shape began to slowly rise from the bottom of the sea floor, carried by the stream of air. Calypso sucked in a harsh breath upon seeing the object.

_A bone-thin man slowly washed upon the sands of Ogygia, laying prone atop a piece of wood that served his only respite of the waters._

_Calypso gasped, and ran towards the man. Finally, someone had shown up to Ogygia, someone visible and real and — she gasped upon finally reaching him. He was a mortal._

The person rose elegantly out of the water, floating supine on the surface. Golden rays of sun illuminated off of his slick body. Slowly, he was brought to the shoreline not too dissimilar to how a dead soldier would be carried atop his shield. Gasping, Calypso realized immediately the condition of her new hero. His skin was a bright and vibrant light red, with sections peeling off his body in white, flaky sheets, with large blisters covering every possible location. If he was wearing any clothes they had but long since burnt away as tattered black strips barely clung to his body, his only form of modesty. Had he lost a battle with a basilisk or a drakon? Knowing the kinds of heroes that washed ashore on Ogygia, perhaps even the Chimera…

His raven locked hair was singed and burnt at the edges, whilst his face was missing the grace of eyebrows — Calypso assumed the same for any and all of his body hair. She cried silently to herself. Odysseus was the first, and he came malnourished and on Thanatos’ doorstep. Then comes Drake, bleeding profusely from an impossibly round wound in his chest, body as pale as any of the underworldly gods. She was content with assuming the first two heroes who had landed on her island were both simply near death by coincidence, but a third hero washed ashore who was obviously clinging to life made this part of her curse no coincidence. 

The water began to churn again, and started lapping at Calypso’s feet, which had now come to rest at the edge of the water. Calypso stepped back tentatively as the sea began to creep forward even more, rising slowly. This continued for almost thirty backward steps before the sea stopped, having risen at least the length of Calypso’s finger.

At this, he currents stopped carrying the boy, and he stilled, floating an arms length away from Calypso. She wanted to reach out and touch his skin, desire burning deep in her chest. She wanted to feel how injured his skin really was, and to memorize each and every injury that mapped his whole body so that she could better heal and care for the boy. 

Calypso’s mind was screaming at her to not go down this pathway again. 

_“Must you leave, Francis Drake? You can stay here, with me. You will have want for nothing, need for nothing: a life of peace and happiness for eternity.”_

_“I suppose that I can admit to saying that I am indeed still considering that option, Calypso.”_

_Calypso’s breath hitched, and one hand went to cover her mouth while the other clasped over her heart._

_Drake sighed, “Calypso, you are a wonderful, kind, and caring lady, and being brought here makes me wish greatly that you could be freed from this prison.” He chuckled softly to himself, a smile gracing his face. “As beautiful as this prison is.”_

_“But?” Her voice was hoarse, eyes filled with the potential of tears, and her heart dropped. It was happening again._

_“But I must return home, Calypso. My men are currently laying siege to Spain and her ships, and my dear Elizabeth would be terribly distraught. Even now, King Philip is ordering plans for a continuous attack on my homeland. He will lose — he must — because I will be commanding my Virgin Queen’s fleet. I am no son of the sea god, but even the greatest warriors have fear over a wise son of War.”_

_Drake covered Calypso’s now shaking hands with his own._

_“I will never forget your hospitality, Calypso, and I swear on the Styx that I meant I wished I could stay.” Thunder boomed overhead, “but I have a duty to my Queen and my country, a duty to my wife, and especially a duty to the men who I am commanding.”_

_He wiped a singular tear that rolled down Calypso’s cheek. “Goodbye, Calypso. I hope you will find someone who will not have such a call to duty as I.”_

_It was Odysseus all over again._

With the funeral procession over, the water dropped the boy onto the submerged sands below and began to pull back to the sea once more. Her body betrayed her, as she reached down to gracefully touch at his burnt, raw skin that she so desperately wanted to see healed immediately.

Gasping, her hand retracted quickly as Calypso was startled to find that, even after being in the sea for as long as he was, his skin was painfully hot to the touch. His body radiated like a warm fire, Calypso having been too entranced to ever notice. She was aghast at the condition he was in, as it was the worst Calypso had seen a hero yet. Odysseus was on death’s door as well, yes, but this boy had been ablaze. The only aspect of his body that differentiated him from the newly deceased was the very faint rise and fall of his chest. 

Her hands continued hovering his skin, taking extra care not to disturb any of the burnt or peeled skin, and to not touch any of the blisters. They moved with grace from his arm to his chest which, while not marred by as much peeled skin, was covered by hideous and grotesque blisters.

“You poor thing,” she breathed. 

Calypso moved from his chest, not wishing to risk disturbing any of the blisters yet. Her hand made refuge on his cheek, which she softly and slowly caressed. She steeled herself before her eyes could have the chance to betray her and tear up. Carefully, she placed her arms underneath the boy's knees and near his armpits. With ease, Calypso lifted him up in her arms as she stood, took a few shaky breaths to calm herself, and began to walk back to her cave, doing her best to ignore the painful heat he radiated.

**///**

_“What has…” Calypso faltered, she had never seen such a being, much less a mortal, have an appearance such as this one before her._

_His ribs were fully visible underneath his tanned skin, as veins pressed out against the skin, the most prominent ones running from his shoulders down each of his arms. The flesh sunk down, highlighting the man’s collarbone. Her hand could have wrapped neatly around either of his arms. They were not bone thin, but had so little mass on them that what was left was simply residual tissue. He was a warrior, that much was obvious to Calypso. Battle scars criss-crossed his body in various places, and she could tell even with the malnutrition that he was a fit and muscular person._

_She mentally slapped herself; now was not the time for any form of question, much less hesitation. Calypso reached down to grab him and hopefully move him out of the water. Placing her hands under the man’s armpits, she slowly pulled him up into a position from which she could drag him backwards._

_She paused to change positions, about twenty podes from the shoreline, and laid him down on the sand which was now slightly wet from his dripping skin. Buckling his knees so that she could get a better position to lift him in the air —_

_Calypso screamed as the man sputtered awake and grabbed her wrist._

_“Who…” He coughed, moving his head to look her in the eyes, dirt-dark gazing into chestnut. “Who are you?”_

_“I…” she took a shaky breath to calm her nerves, “I am Calypso, my friend. But that matters not. The better question to ask would be: who are_ you _, and how did you come to find yourself on my island?”_

_“Odysseus… We were…” More coughs wreaked throughout his body. Calypso gave a few hard pats to his upper back._

_“You are malnourished, that much is obvious.”_

_“Starving… Helios’ cattle… slaughtered…” He — Odysseus took deep breaths, as Calypso slowly ran her fingers through his long and curly black locks attempting to soothe him. The information startled Calypso._

_“I see,” she mused. “This certainly makes sense then. A befitting punishment for killing divine property.” Odysseus looked almost offended at the claim._

_“Did not… consume… Others perished… Zeus… Poseidon?” Odysseus was getting more and more confused and frantic as he talked._

_“Calm yourself, dear Odysseus.” Calypso saw a silver tray in her periphery, on it resting a chalice of water. “Drink” she commanded._

_She positioned the chalice at his lips, tilting his chin up with her other hand while tilting the chalice to allow the liquid to run through Odysseus’ open mouth. A soft moan escaped him._

_Odysseus sighed contentedly when she removed the chalice from his lips. He looked Calypso in the eyes again, leaning his head into her arm. Gone was the hysteria, replaced now with the glazed appearance of tiredness._

_“Thank you, Calypso.” His eyelids began to close, teetering on the edge of consciousness once more._

_“I promise to protect you, Odysseus. Sleep now, brave one.” Odysseus slumped into Calypso’s arms, slowly laying him back down, fast asleep._

_“I will not let any harm come to you, for as long as you stay here. This I swear.”_

Calypso was brought out of her thoughts, her healing magic interrupted as the boy suddenly awoke, groaning as he tried to lift himself off the ground by his arms, most likely attempting to sit himself upright. His will-power surprised Calypso — he was old enough to be a man, but right at the cusp. To show this much strength and vigor, at this age and in that body, it was impressive.

He groaned out in pain as his arms collapsed underneath him, the act causing him to once again writhe in pain. Calypso grabbed a piece of fabric hurriedly, and began soaking it in the cold watering pot next to her. He spoke, but it was unfortunately not a language that she understood. It sounded eerily similar to the one Drake used before he realized he had landed on Ogygia however.

“Stay still,” said Calypso. “You are too weak to rise.” 

Wringing the fabric to get the excess water out, she placed it across his forehead, hoping to ease the heat still present throughout his entire body. It was no longer painful to touch, akin now to holding one’s hand just too close to the flame of a candle: uncomfortable yes, but tortuous no.

One of Calypso’s servants had brought along a bronze bowl full of nectar, as well as a spoon to help serve it to the demigod in front of her. Grabbing the bronze spoon, she scooped up a small amount of the golden liquid and slowly drizzled it into his mouth, taking care to avoid touching his facial burns now that he was conscious. She was glad this boy was a demigod, it would make the healing process much smoother than that of Odysseus'.

Calypso allowed the hero below her to view her, seeing as he could not move his head without feeling immense pain, judging by the strained moans coming out of his mouth. Positioning her head above his so that they could lock eyes, Calypso’s thoughts were confirmed upon gazing into them — the boy was indeed Poseidon’s. It could have been no one else, besides Hephaestus based on the fact he had survived the burning, but she needed to see the eyes to be sure. 

With this realization, Calypso knew one thing for certain. She could never allow herself to fall for this hero, and if he stayed Ogygia and her sanctuary would be at risk, even with it being so far away from any divine power. The seas would show no mercy as Poseidon himself would terrorize her isle, making the display upon this boy's landing look like mere child’s play.

Putting her traitorous thoughts aside, Calypso carefully moved his head so that he would not be blind to her before he fell back into Hypnos’ domain. His head now tilted to the side slightly, Calypso kneeled on the ground near him, held her arms out, and began to sing, imbuing the best healing magic she could conjure. Sleep would be something only her visitor would be allowed to receive, at least for the first night he was here.

He again said something undecipherable and foreign, and locked his eyes on Calypso, his face showing hints of confusion and anxiety. She looked at him closely, and his face that, still marred by whatever burnt him, held tremendous beauty. After Drake, Calypso had sworn never to fall for another hero, but it never was to the Styx.

“Shh, brave one,” she said. “Rest and heal. No harm will come to you here. I am Calypso.” With that, his eyes slowly closed and his consciousness slipped away. She let loose a breath she had not realized she had been holding.

“Well,” she whispered, her voice pained, “here we go again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re curious as to why colors are odd, and why I didn’t just call Odysseus’ eye color brown (I’m also taking my own liberty with his appearance since afaik there is no description of his looks in canon), I suggest you look up Tom Scott’s “All The Colours, Including Grue” video on YouTube for a 3 minute synopsis on linguistics and color. TL;DW I really can’t use any color names outside of black, white, red, green, yellow, light, and dark. Homer calls the sky bronze or brazen and the ocean wine-dark instead of simply calling both blue, as Greek didn’t evolve to the point of needing a word for the color blue. Percy’s eyes are a particular issue since while sea-green could possibly be a color Calypso recognizes, but since the sea is the color of “wine-dark” then Percy’s eyes cannot be equivalent, at least in my opinion. 
> 
> Next chapter sees the BotL timeline start for real.


	3. Cruel are ye, O ye gods

**SHINING** high in the dark night sky, Artemis was at her peak before Calypso could at all consider her hero in any form of a stable condition. While a strong demigod this boy was, Calypso had to resign to the fact that he was not a divine being such as herself and thus could not be healed fully on the golden food of the gods. As such, the constant stream of magic Calypso had to use to heal the boy, magic imbued with such great urgency and conviction that had not been seen in ages, drained her immortal body surprisingly quickly.

Looking down at the boy, Calypso was pleased to see that he did indeed look somewhat better than before. His light red skin, still ever-present and hiding what used to be fair skin, had come down in intensity a decent amount. The once numerous amounts of blisters that dotted his body like the constellations of Ouranos were now almost completely gone, faded into the light red skin of his body.

Taking the almost empty bronze bowl of nectar, Calypso drank the remainder from it hurriedly as the sweet and sticky taste of fresh candied dates danced across her tongue, replenishing her just enough to continue through the night. Setting the bowl down on the ground, discarding it, Calypso began preparations to move her hero.

Carefully, Calypso grasped the raven locked boy before hoisting his body to lay across her shoulder blades. Steadying herself, she began to carry her hero out of the central courtyard, away from the watchful eyes of the stone satyrs, as she made haste to her cave system. A small part of Calypso's instincts fought with her, as the moon was in the perfect position to care for and plant more of her glistening silver moonlace.

Calypso turned briefly to look at the sprawling garden which contained the luminescent plants she so cared for and sighed discontentedly. Her plants would survive a day without her care, but it felt wrong to abandon the garden that was her constant even during the early beginnings of her heroes washing ashore.

_Calypso slowly walked to the main entrance of her cave as the latest addition to her curse, Francis Drake, leaned on her body, hobbling next to her as bled profusely from his abdomen. Fate was cruel enough, already depositing to her a second hero that would most likely leave Calypso once more — but to have him appear whilst she was attending to her moonlace was but salt on the wound. Calypso cared for her plants every night, and the constant of it helped to bring her happiness and a reprieve from her misery._

" _I… I must say—" he was interrupted by a series of painful coughs that racked his body. Rose-red blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth, slowly seeping into the jagged beard adorning his face. Francis Drake looked startled at the addition to his plight._

_Calypso paused, looking at Francis Drake and the garden of moonlace that rested in the distance behind him._

" _Come, I have no choice but to begin outside."_

_If Francis Drake was upset by that he made no indication._

_Slowly the pair approached the silver meadow, whilst Calypso lowered her body and helped Francis Drake onto the ground, lying supine._

" _It's beautiful," he breathed, turning his head to face her garden. "Homer did you a disservice… No mention of a meadow of glistening silver anywhere." Francis Drake moved his head back to look Calypso in the eyes as best he could, wincing in pain as he chuckled slightly._

_Calypso grabbed a bowl of nectar and a square of ambrosia from a floating silver tray, while a watering pot slowly floated towards her in the distance. Perhaps she could achieve care for both of her charges, entertaining herself and her injured guest all at once. Calypso smiled, looking him in the eyes._

" _Homer?"_

Entering her bedroom, Calypso placed the raven locked boy atop her white cotton bedding. The charred remains of his clothing were like charcoal, and they stained the bedding ever so slightly. It would clean out with a wash later.

Moving to her table, she saw that her servants had already supplied her with the clothing appropriate for a male. White cotton trousers and a matching shirt — articles of clothing which Drake had told her were what people of the day wore now — were neatly pressed and folded and waiting for her. The shirt however was quite different from the kind that Drake had worn and was vastly different from any of the descriptions he had given her regarding the fashion of the time.

" _It is called a_ doublet _."_

"Dub… dub-le… doub _—" Calypso groaned in frustration. "What language did you say this was? I dislike your words greatly"_

The _doublet_ , a marvel of clothing that awed Calypso. The article of clothing that the world saw with marvelous buttons adorning the front with intricate designs. It was worn over a shirt, an odd-looking linen fabric that had similar buttons down the middle that stopped midway down, with long sleeves covering the arms. The shirt her servants had prepared for her however had no such buttons, with sleeves that looked as if they would only cover to the middle of the upper arm.

_Odd._

Grasping the clothes in one hand, Calypso slowly walked to her bed and began to strip the boy of his threadbare apparel. Her hands grasped at the blackened remains of his shirt, and it fell to pieces at the slightest pull. Calypso gasped at the fragility of it while discarding the weary strips of cloth to the ground, as a servant quickly picked up the pieces before it stained her white sheepskin carpet.

She paused to take in her hero's appearance as Calypso attempted to convince herself that she was merely looking to assess the wounds that were previously obstructed from her view underneath the fabric. Streaks of vivid and bright red skin danced across his body while splotches of similar color landed on his skin in various unsettling locations — his body the canvas for a horrid artist who cared not for any display of beauty but for the cries of terror of a wounded man.

Slowly, Calypso's hand lowered and began to trace outlines of the wounds. Golden light radiated from her fingertips as they hovered over the skin, almost invisible in the candlelight that illuminated Calypso's bedroom. Concentrating her healing magic around minute areas allowed for the wounds of the boy to heal with more precision and speed. Calypso watched in delight and fasciation as the patches of discoloration and areas of dead and peeling skin began to fuse themselves together, leaving no obvious trace of any damage. Already drained of power, however, she had to settle for only healing a small portion of the wounds across his body.

Thus, the golden light faded from her fingertips, while Calypso resumed her journey of disrobing the boy. Calypso's hand stayed, just barely touching the skin as her fingertips followed an imaginary line down from his upper chest as she set an agonizingly slow pace. Firm muscles faintly swelled underneath the burnt skin, reminding Calypso that this boy was indeed a warrior, akin to Odysseus rather than Drake. Not to say that Drake was not a warrior, but he did his battle on the sea and at range with loud booming weapons like an archer — _guns_ , Drake had called them — which produced a different physique than the intense physical combat of swords and spears that Odysseus was so versed in.

Calypso, with her attention now thinking longingly of Odysseus and her past, had forgotten that her hero was not yet fully healed as she brushed against a blister and peeling skin which caused the boy to suck in a harsh breath in pain. Jumping away, Calypso withdrew her hand to prevent causing her hero any more unwarranted pain. She quickly made her way to her dark oak table where there remained a minuscule amount of ambrosia left. The boy had already consumed a large quantity of the golden food of the gods, but she wanted nothing more than to give him the divine substance to help soothe his pain.

Her hero was talking in that foreign tongue she had heard earlier once more, pain evident in his voice, however with it was a sense of urgency and worry with fear imbued into every word. Within those words contained a set of noises that made Calypso stop in her tracks, a set of noises which formed a word that made her realize just the pain and fear her hero felt. A word that she had not heard since her previous inhabitant had first arrived on her island: _help_.

_A loud, pained cry left the man's lips. He was repeating a word in a language unknown to Calypso, every few utterances exclaiming it. Calypso could only assume it had some importance, perhaps it was his lover's name? A befitting thing to cry on Ogygia._

_Calypso tilted her head, confused. She worried for him, an impossibly round hole was in his abdomen, staining the white sand beneath him rose-red, appearing black in the high moonlight._

_The man again began to speak rapidly in his foreign tongue, before looking to his surroundings. His eyes grazed over the terrain behind her, before resting on one of the many outcrops of her cave and he looked down to the stained sand beneath his knees. Slowly, his eyes widened, brightening as best they could with the amount of pain that must have been radiating through his body from his abdomen as he stared at Calypso intensely._

" _This is Ogygia, is it not?" His tongue changed to Greek, speaking slowly and somberly as if he knew what his being here entailed. "That would make you the fair-tressed goddess Calypso, yes?"_

_Calypso chuckled inwardly at the word goddess. "Indeed, this is, but we do not have the time for this…" she trailed off, gesturing to his person as she realized she did not know his name._

" _Francis Drake—" he coughed hard and heavily. An odd name, not Greek in the slightest. She would have to have a discussion on the world he came from once he was healed._

" _Francis Drake." A unique name. "I must tend to your wounds as quickly as I can. I do not wish for you to be the first death on these lands. Can you stand and walk?" Calypso started towards the wounded Francis Drake._

" _I think…"_

" _Use me for support then, Francis Drake. It is but a short journey. Ogygia is only so large, as you will learn."_

Calypso quickly consumed the golden square with such haste that she did not relish in the slightest at the taste of candied dates and rushed to the side of her still whimpering and pained hero. He continued muttering in the language that Calypso now knew was called _English_ from the few times Drake had attempted to teach her his native tongue.

Reaching further into her well of magic than she had used in centuries, Calypso hovered her hands over his body, her palms almost touching the pained skin, and began to sing as she worked her magic to relieve him. Golden light flickered to life around her palms and encased her hero, and warm satisfaction filled Calypso as her hero exhaled in relief and mumbled incoherently as if to thank his savior.

"Thank… you…"

The Greek words that escaped the boy's lips startled Calypso, distracting her enough to make her end the healing process. However, looking at the exposed skin of his upper body made her realize that she had done quite enough for the boy; blots of the dead, peeling skin had all but sealed together, forming a vast stretch of nearly whole skin while the blisters had once again reduced in size greatly, almost disappearing.

Calypso smiled, this boy being the youngest hero she had received yet, but there was innocence in youth, an innocence she had not been privy to for millennia. And so Calypso began the process of stripping him further, so that she may dress him to protect the delicate healing skin and perhaps, just maybe, allow herself some sleep.

/ / /

Brightfire danced through the white cotton curtains as Helios— Apollon, Calypso had to remind herself, began his cycle again. Calypso watched as the colors of the early morning made a tapestry of her curtains, as the flames began to flicker across the sheepskin carpet on the cave floor, and as the crystals and geodes took the flames and turned them into a numerous amount of colors that always enthralled her.

Sleep found her quite easily after dressing her hero, and she was happy to see that the boy had not magically disappeared from the bed she shared with him upon her waking. Calypso rolled over on her side, gazing longingly at her hero, and her hand reached out to slowly interlace her fingers with his. He looked wonderful in the early morning's light.

"Good morning, my hero."

He stirred in his sleep as if hearing Calypso speak to him.

"No… my name is _Percy_ , Mister D…"

Calypso gasped and smiled, happy that he in his sleep spoke a language she could understand fully. There were still certain sounds — words she supposed — that were out of place, as if the boy was combining multiple different languages, using the one she spoke as a base for the others.

Percy. The name was odd yet almost familiar, and Calypso relished the feeling of a new sound after all these millennia as she attempted to pronounce it — sound vibrating up through her throat as her tongue and lips formed the name, something she had not allowed herself to do with Drake, his situation being too dire for her to appreciate.

"Per… cy… Percy." She looked across at the dark-haired Percy, and her free hand reached to caress his face slowly, with care.

"Hello, Percy, and welcome to Ogygia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter and the long wait, but I was failing to find inspiration for how to take this chapter — outside of the ending — and midterms were destroying me; asynchronous classes are torturous. I know I said that BotL canon would start in this chapter, but I realized that I needed to keep Percy unconscious for longer than I thought for Calypso to form the attachment that she has to him in Canon. We see the first parts of that now with how Calypso touches Percy and how she sleeps with him in her bed, even though Calypso is trying to not form this attachment. Such is the life of a cursed being.


	4. The messenger, Argeiphontes

** CALYPSO ** woke up to the soft rustling of her silk curtains as a soft breeze blew throughout her room, the soft morning light bathing her room in a multitude of colors. She was glad to still feel the soft and warm body of the boy beneath her cheek and hand. His skin had healed enough so that she felt comfortable allowing herself to remain in contact with him. She slowly lifted her head and shifted her body so that she was sitting up, glad to see a silver tray atop her nightstand which presented to her a silver chalice of water and a warm loaf of bread, steam still emanating from its body. Calypso stroked her hero’s arm and kissed his cheek.

“Good morning, Percy.”

Standing to get dressed, Calypso moved with a skip in her step, glad to see that Percy was still here after a plethora of sunrises. She hoped dearly he would wake soon.

And so, after dressing herself in a white chiton and slipping on her leather sandals, she once more grabbed the loaf of bread and set out to start her day. She fastened her golden belt around her waist whilst she walked, dropping the loaf of bread in the air for a servant to hold in her stead. 

She reached her daytime gardens when she felt a disturbance that brought her out of her trance. It was the presence of another divine being. Turning around, she found him, floating upon winged sandals and holding that dreaded golden staff.

“Good morning, Calypso. Walk with me?”

///

_ Calypso found him on the northern shore, a flash of dark color starkly juxtaposed against the soft white beaches of Ogygia. He sat perched atop one of the few scattered boulders that marred the otherwise perfect coast, yet remained untouched by the forces of erosion, as the waves never did achieve the height nor the range to touch the dark grey rocks. Their children were running playfully, chasing each other, to which her lover watched with deadened eyes, sparing only glances towards the glee which Nausithous and Nausinous held.  _

_ How had she been so blind to his sadness? She loved him and cared for him since that fateful day — nursed him and fed him to his full strength, and gave him the affection that he rightfully deserved. Due to him, for the first time in centuries, Calypso had begun to keep track of days once more. Just over seven years did he and Calypso lead a wonderful, love-filled life together, even if he was hesitant at first due to his previous occupations in Ithaca. _

“Even so, send him forth now, or beware the wrath of Zeus.”

_ The words of Argeiphontes echoed in her mind. So it was with bated breath and small steps that Calypso made her way to her lover, lest she provoke the cloud-gatherer any further than she had. Two heads of rich and dark locks of dirt ran to greet her. They were so young, so full of innocence. _

_ “Mother!” they shouted in unison, joy radiating around them much like Calypso’s aura of magic. _

_ Steeling her nerves, Calypso put on a brave smile and hugged her twins. “Hello Nausithous, Nausinous. How are you two doing?” _

_ “Wonderful!” exclaimed Nausinous, the more gleeful of the two. “We tried to get father to join us, but he so rarely ever decides to play.” _

_ “I think he needs a friend.” _

_ “But he has Mother!" Nausinous gave a playful punch to his twin's upper arm. "‘Sithous doesn’t understand, mother. Father just isn’t that kind of person, right?” _

_ Calypso’s breath hitched, and Nausithous grew a concerned look on his face; he was so much more like his father. _

_ “Mother? What’s the matter?” _

_ “No… Nothing, my child.” Calypso paused to take a deep breath, and reset her face with as happy a face as she could muster, and made sure to speak with a tone of joy to not worry her children any longer. “Why don’t you and your brother head inside and see what wine our friends have left for us to enjoy, hmm? I think I know just what your father needs.” _

_ “Okay! Race you to the kitchens, ‘Sithous!” _

_ “Gladly!” _

_ “Be safe! And please bring me some dates if there are any there!” She called out to their retreating forms, thankful they didn’t pick up on the dismissal for what it was. Meanwhile, atop the boulder a few dozen podes away, Calypso could see him looking at her. He, however, was not fooled by the display.  _

_ Even from the distance, Calypso could see his shoulders moving in jerked motions, tears that she could not yet see but were obviously being shed from his form. But within that sadness came a wave of raw and visceral anger that Calypso had never felt from him before, an intense stare much like a predator was fixed on her person. Never in her immortal life had Calypso felt so much like the deer, he the hunter. Before she knew it, Calypso had crossed the distance, and she stood below a man with puffy red eyes, who yearned for something Calypso could no longer provide for him. _

_ “Be sad no longer, Odysseus, please. I beg of you, do not waste your life in pining. I am… ready and willing to send you towards your home. I shall lead you to a grove of bountiful cedar trees with which we can use to craft for you a raft in which you shall be able to cross the misty sea. And I will provide for you bread and water and red wine to your heart’s content so that hunger and thirst may never reach you. And I will provide with you the best clothing I can weave. And…” Calypso paused to take a breath, her speech had gotten more rapid as she rambled on to her lover.  _

_ Odysseus had stopped his crying, and stared at her intently, with intrigue and confusion. He had come down from his perch and now stood in front of her. She looked at him in the eyes, remembering the joyous moments they had together, their moments of love and passion, the birth of their children, the many dinners they shared. Her voice cracked as she continued.  _

_ “And I will send with you and your raft a wind to ensure a safe voyage to your home in Ithaca, if that is the will of the gods in the sky… for they are mightier and more powerful than I to fulfill this duty.” _

_ At this revelation, Odysseus shuddered, before replying with winged words. “Surely,  _ goddess _,” he spat the false title at her, “you must mean something other, suggesting that I cross on a raft this dreadful and grievous gulf of a sea — which not even the finest and fastest of ships may pass, even with the wind of Zeus in their sails. I will not set a single foot on any raft when you obviously do not wish for me to leave, unless you,_ goddess _, give to me your solemn word that you are not nor will not be plotting against me in my journey home, away from this prison.”_

_ Calypso sadly smiled at her lover, for even if he rejected her she would always view him as hers, and reached a hesitant hand to stroke his arm in a display of compassion and sympathy. He flinched from the touch but allowed it.  _

_ “You truly are a scoundrel, Odysseus, and quite brave that you would even think to speak such words.” Calypso’s voice trailed off, and she laughed softly. “Nonetheless, let Earth be my witness, with Olympus above, and may the waters of the Styx bind this greatest and most dreadful oath, that I will not plot against you anything new to cause you harm.” Thunder rolled overhead, and they both knew the pact was made, causing Odysseus to sigh a breath of relief. “No, my thoughts and counsel are what I would have for myself if I had any use for them, but you do have such use and can leave this island, truly. My intentions are honest ones, as they have always been, and the heart that rests inside me is not made of iron as you may think. It too can feel pity.”  _

_ Odysseus moved to sit atop the white sand and leaned against the dark rock that had once been his perch. She took place beside him and set her head to rest upon his shoulder. He let loose a long and shaky breath. _

_ “I thank you for your… hospitality, misguided as it may have been. Nausithous and Nausinous should stay here with you, if the gods will it.” _

_ “But they care deeply for you, Odysseus. The boys will need their father.” _

_ “But they also need a mother, and Penelope is not nor shall she ever be their mother.” His face grew angry as he pondered his next words. “And as much as I do care for and love for those two, as they are indeed my own flesh and blood, they share with that too your own blood, and I wish to forever put these years behind me upon my exit.” _

_ Calypso’s resolve cracked and she began to cry, much like Odysseus had done nigh daily for seven years. “I understand.” And Odysseus, even wrought with frustration and anger, embraced her as she cried, for his heart too could feel pity. _

///

_ The waves raged. The skies raged. She raged. _

_ For long nights and even longer days, Calypso’s terrible cries of agony and shouts of anger echoed across all of Ogygia, frightening the young and peaceful animals that inhabited her prison with her, their peace long disrupted. Her servants, annoying creatures, learned quickly to leave her alone: food and wine incinerated or fed to the thirsty ground below her.  _

_ Her pristine oak table where Calypso would spend her time covering her scrolls of papyrus with ink now stood bare, the scrolls scattered and torn throughout her once immaculate dwelling. The wooden nightstand lay in the entrance to the door, a feeble attempt at a barricade against Hera’s gifts which only served as a greater annoyance for when Calypso decided to spread her ire elsewhere. She had long since burnt to ash the scrolls which contained writings of her life with  _ him _, refusing to ever look at them. The ashes stood proudly in a corner Calypso refused to look at. Perhaps she would regret the decision in a few centuries._

_ Her bed was the only thing truly left untouched in her rage, spending most of her time within the confines of the comfort of linen, cotton, and feathers. An empty bottle of wine lay across the bundled comforter, a dripping blood-red stain adorning the mess, adding to the already depressing state of her room.  _

_ She cried out to her audience of stone. “A thousand curses upon you! Zeus  _ Xenios _, ha!” She listened for the clap of thunder that never came._

_ “What, oh great cloud-gatherer, are you too weak to even seek vengeance on me for such a curse? Or am I so little to you that you equate my cries to that of an infant? I am a titan! You should fear me!” The bottle of wine smashed against the wall, shattering and sending bloody trails of liquid down from the zone of impact. _

_ “You were too weak to even force me to send him home yourself! No, instead you send your great messenger  _ Argeiphontes _to do your dirty work! I loved him! I pity that horrible goddess Hera, as you would fail to know such an emotion.” Calypso’s rant slowly lost tempo and with it, her voice became more hoarse and needier; tears slowly began to pour from her eyes for the first time since he left. Her anger was gone._

_ “I loved him… and he loved me. I did everything right, but he had to have someone awaiting him on the other side. I thought… I thought he had forgotten her… I thought I had  _ made _him forget her.” The bed creaked under the pressure of Calypso crashing against the soft cotton surface, no longer having the energy to madly pace her room. No longer having the energy to even stand._

_ “I loved him… And you took him away…” _

///

_ “Come then, I will show you to your raft, Francis Drake.” Her voice was stilted and pained, for again a lover was leaving. She flinched away from his hand that caressed her cheek and set her spine straight. _

“Send him forth now, or beware the wrath of Zeus.”

_ “Calypso, please—” _

_ “No! Do not console me, I am a proud titaness. You have made your choice, and I understand and respect that. As much as I would love for us to spend as much time together as we could, you have a matter of great urgency that requires you to leave as soon as possible.” She would not show weakness to him, he deserved that much. “You have told me enough of King Philip and the navy that will besiege your homeland. I do not wish to keep you here so that those in  _ England _will suffer due to the loss of their_ Vice Admiral _.”_

_ Francis Drake looked to Calypso, eyes both saddened and stunned. His mouth hung open the slightest amount, and his hands slowly constricted and expanded. “Yes… Yes, you are correct, Calypso. I apologize. I do indeed need to protect my fair Queen and country.” A sad smile came across his lips, allowing for Calypso to have her last few moments with Francis Drake be spent in some amount of happiness. “Come, show me my great warship, oh goddess.” _

_ A laugh betrayed Calypso, and she was happy that he was such a gentleman. “Oh, do follow me. I am sure you will find it capable of sinking anything that dare stand in your way.” _

_ “Truly? Tell me, how much power do her  _ guns _possess?”_

///

_ Calypso watched as Francis Drake became nothing more than a small dot on the horizon, before disappearing altogether. She stood straight, hands at her sides clenched into deep fists. Her eyes were swollen and tinged gold, as salt-water tears rapidly fell from her face, crashing to the sand beneath her feet.  _

_ If only this one had no war he was responsible for. Calypso had learned from the mistakes she made with Odysseus, and Francis Drake had taken an instant liking to her. Their love had come naturally, and while he had a woman that awaited him in his homeland, that did nothing to stop the roaring flame of passion that ignited betwixt the two. His admission and ensuing oath upon the Styx that he truly wanted to stay with her on Ogygia, for eternity, made the situation even more maddening and depressing.  _

_ They were friends that had quickly become lovers, and the naturalness of it made it all the more romantic. But Francis Drake had duties that he had to answer the call of, and while Calypso understood, it did not ease the pain.  _

_ “Ananke. Gods. Zeus. Moirai. Whoever is listening, hear this. The next traveler, adventurer, or hero that finds themselves on these very shores due to your intervention, I will listen to my heart no longer. But no longer will I listen to you, either. My life, and my fate, are my own now due to your placement of me and my prison.” She took a confident breath, her head and mind clear for the first time in millennia.  _

_ “My life, in sadness and joy and love and rage, is to be your plaything no longer. And while you may ignore this and place upon me a compulsion to act as I do, I will resist and fight and enforce upon myself my own free will as best I can. And the next hero to wash upon my island, if he will have me, will stay with me in happiness and love. This I swear.” And with a deep, true smile, Calypso sent a slow, silent wave goodbye to the ocean where Francis Drake had just been and walked to her moonlace, a jump in her step. _

///

_ The messenger Argeiphontes sat upon a bright shining chair across Calypso, the table that separated them holding plates of gold ambrosia and silver chalices of nectar. Calypso herself slowly drank from a silver chalice containing wine, and the messenger sat holding his wand, staring at the display below. She feigned ignorance in her words, but she knew that they were both aware of his purpose here: Odysseus.  _

_ “Hermes of the golden wand, an honorable and welcome guest. Pray, why have you come? You have not been wont to come before. Speak whatever it is that is in your mind; my heart says to do it if I can indeed do it, and if it can be done. But please, enjoy my offer of refreshment whilst we discuss.” Calypso beckoned to the plate of golden ambrosia, which Hermes slowly reached to take. He broke it in two and placed one half in his mouth before speaking.  _

_ “You, a titaness, do question me, a god, upon my reasons for being here?” A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and he sipped nectar from a silver chalice. “I will speak my message clearly since you asked. It was Zeus who sent me here against my will. For who of his own free will would choose to fly over such a great space as this vast wine-dark sea that surrounds you so? For there is not even any city, nor are there any mortals who offer to us gods private and public sacrifice. But it is unwise, or rather impossible, to evade the will of Zeus, the aegis bearer. He states that there is here with you a man, the most unfortunate of all those warriors who for nine years fought around the city of Priam, sacking it in the tenth year, and leaving then for their home. But on their journey home, they offended Athena deeply, and so she sent upon them an evil wind and large waves, leaving him the only survivor, while the waves brought him here.” _

_ He paused to consume the second half of the square of ambrosia in his hand, staring intently at Calypso. She trembled in fear and rage. _

_ “Zeus now commands you to send him swiftly on his way, for it is not his fate to live here far from his friends: he is instead destined to see those friends again, and to reach his vaulted house and his native land.” Calypso’s stomach dropped, and her heart clenched.  _

_ She stood up quickly and slammed her hands on the table beneath her, toppling her chalice of wine and sending a lonesome square of ambrosia to the floor. _

_ “Cruel are ye…” _

///

“You gods, and so quick are you to envy!”

Hermes glared at Calypso, the overbearing aura of an unrestrained god dominating the presence of an imprisoned titan. Calypso had rarely felt so small.

_ “Even so, send him forth now, or beware the wrath of Zeus.” _

“Be that as it may, Calypso, the boy must return to his home. For all the fear that he may place in Zeus, he is fully aware of the power he holds and his place in the great prophecy is all but cemented.”

“He... is a child of prophecy?”

“Indeed, he is. Others had the potential, but current events have all but confirmed his role as a prophecy child. Perseus is to be either our savior or our destroyer.” Percy. Perseus. The name was familiar because it was indeed a name of her language.

“A befitting namesake.” Calypso gave a dead laugh. 

Hermes set his jaw. “We are aware of the irony.” 

“ _Be that as it may_ , _Hermes_ ,” Calypso spat his own words back at him. “Ogygia falls outside the realm of time and fate. Even if he has so far been your child of prophecy and subject to fate to this point, he now sadly exists in a place wherein he can exert his own free will. If he chooses to stay, then your prophecy is no more.”

“And you are so sure of this fact, _goddess_?” Hermes spat the false title that Odysseus and others gave her that she so hated. “For as far as all us gods can tell, you are subject to no such thing. Free will, how amusing! You are to hopelessly fall in love with all who find their way here, and they are to leave no matter if their feelings are reciprocated or not.”

“Odysseus left because Zeus bade you to make me send him on his way. Francis Drake loved me, and he _swore_ upon the Styx that he had a desire to make this island his home, and I his wife. He simply had a matter of great importance that he could not ignore without it eating him alive. England was to be sieged by Spain’s forces, and he had to lead his country to victory to ensure the safety of all.”

“And those things are not the result of fate? How naïve you are.”

“Zeus has placed me in a prison that exists outside of time, and time and fate are one! I will take my chances, oh great Argeiphontes. I will not send him back.”

Hermes raised his golden wand in the air, seething with anger and eyes literally glowing in rage before he calmed himself and adopted a neutral face.

“Fine, I will take your message back to Zeus, that you will not obey his commands.” His lips formed into a sly smile. “We will watch you with great interest, Calypso. Good luck with Perseus.” Hermes’ eyes flickered to something behind her, before chuckling to himself and taking off on his winged sandals, leaving the island once more.

Calypso felt a disturbance behind her. What _had_ Hermes looked at? And so turning around, she discovered his cruel prank. Percy was awake and stumbling towards her location on the white sandy beach. She slowly walked towards him to close the distance, whilst rubbing away the remains of tears in her eyes.

“Well, the sleeper finally awakes,” she said with a twinge of sadness. Calypso spoke in her tongue to ensure she could understand him and tried to place a smile on her face for his comfort.

“Who were you talking to?” The primer worked, and she could understand him completely. His voice was rough and extremely hoarse, the burn damage must have extended to his insides where she could not target with her magic.

“Oh... just a messenger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Life got interesting, to say the least, and I took a rather long break from the internet to focus on work plans for college and other personal things. But you don't care about me, you care about the story.
> 
> Argeiphontes is, if you couldn't tell, Hermes. It's his title, as the slayer of Argus.
> 
> Dialogue between Calypso and Odysseus and Calypso and Hermes (the moments in flashback) is taken from A.T. Murray's translation of The Odyssey (my favorite version which is written in prose instead of verse). It is however written in Early Modern English (Shakespearean English) which I had to translate into Modern English, a rather annoyingly hard task.
> 
> Calypso and Odysseus having two children together is not a very famous inclusion to the myth, but one I have always liked, and I feel that them having children adds to the angst.
> 
> Finally, we are now up to canon! I had wanted to go more in-depth with Calypso caring for Percy and coming to care for him while he remained unconscious, but I felt that it would have dragged on too long having Calypso care for a bedridden Percy, and I could not find the inspiration to write about banal activities such as Calypso cuddling next to Percy whilst she slept.


End file.
